“Certainly I am, brother,” answered the lady. “In every respect it is a most advantageous match for her; indeed, John, I assure you that I look upon an alliance with the Eccleson family as one of the most desirable things which could possibly happen, and so does Mr. Doily.” “I do not agree with you,” said her brother; “and I fear in the end, you may have reason to change your present views.” “And why so, brother?” returned Mrs. Doily. “It seems to me you are always looking upon the dark side! Now do tell me, John, what reasonable objection you can possibly have to Annette’s marriage—I am sure I see none—and, of course, no one can have her happiness more at heart than her own mother! Is not Mr. Eccleson very rich, and nearly allied to some of the very first families in the city? His age surely can be no serious objection—indeed, it is all for the best, for a man stands still, while a woman grows old; and fifteen years hence, depend upon it, no one will think him fifteen years her senior. Then he is very agreeable, and certainly uncommonly good-looking!” and with the air of one who feels satisfied that they have the best of the argument, Mrs. Doily complacently swung to and fro in her easy rocking-chair. “Yes, Jane, he is all these—and, you may add, too, as proud as Lucifer!” said Mr. Goodman. “He has reason to be proud!” put in Mrs. Doily. “Perhaps he has,” answered her brother, “and you will find that his pride will not allow him to acknowledge willingly any connection with a dry-goods retailer!” “Ridiculous, brother—how foolish you talk! Pray, then, why should he offer to marry Annette, if he looks upon the connection as something to be ashamed of?” said Mrs. Doily, getting almost angry. “Why? why because he has fallen in love with Annette’s pretty face; he means to marry _her_, not her family, and he trusts to his future power over her, and to a woman’s devotedness to her husband, right or wrong, to wean her away from all her earlier ties!” “John, you really talk very strangely!” exclaimed Mrs. Doily, almost ready to cry. “What possesses you to run on in this way, just as if my dear Annette could ever be brought to give up all her old friends for strangers. I do wish you would not talk so—it really makes me nervous!”